


Inside Me Blood of Kings

by ravenously



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 'Winter and his ridiculous amounts of husbands the au', I will add the other characters as I write this, King Pierce, M/M, Prince Winter, au- royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As King Pierce attempts to expand his empire, his own Prince is pushed to make more and more aggressive political moves; assassinations to make points, and kidnappings to worry the nations next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The hall isn’t crowded- There are, perhaps, a dozen men standing in front of King Pierce, engaging in an argument. Pierce looks bored and vaguely amused, all at once, though he does deign to interject here and there whenever his associates- nobles of various caliber and positions of power- say something  _incredibly_  idiotic. 

The loudest, perhaps, is the holy leader from a small city-state. His already-ruddy cheeks are nearly purple in rage, stout body jittery from pent-up anger. 

“You expect my nation to sit idly by while you  _threaten_ us?” His voice is high-pitched and full of tremors, but still holds enough threat that a few of the men stop their side-arguments to watch him and Pierce. 

“Now, ‘nation’ is a bit of a stretch, is it not?” Pierce replies crisply. There’s a smile in his voice, a barbed sword-tipped concoction that spreads oil through the hall. “And... Well,  _your_  nation is a bit of a stretch, as well.” He leans forward in his chair- The other men are standing, milling about, but the King himself is seated in his throne. 

Pierce is about to continue, but the doors on the opposite side of the hall open without any care for noise. The men quiet- No one would  _dare_  walk in on their private meetings, not if they cared about their extremities. 

The only sound is the clip of heels as Pierce’s prince walks in, holding a bag at his side. It’s dripping something onto the floor, but the dead-eyed gaze of Prince Winter doesn’t even bother to look. He stares straight ahead, eyes flicking only to meet his father’s when he gets closer. 

The priest looks, if possible, even angrier. He splutters when the prince walks closer, his mouth twisting into a sharp grimace. “You  _highness_ , this is highly intolerable. Bringing your mangy  _dog_  here- He’s covered in  _blood!”_

Pierce taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his eyebrows raised at the holy man for daring to speak out of turn like that. He glances to Winter. 

It’s true- His immaculate clothes are splattered with blood, the liquid seeping into the rich fabric and staining the expensive dyes and patterns of bright flowers on his coat. Some seamstress probably worked on the coat for a year. They’d cry if they saw the state of it now.

It’s a rather nice symbol, Pierce thinks. They’re powerful enough to have rich clothes, to have immaculate designs and soft, rich fabric. That says something. But more, they’re rich enough to not even care how dirty and ruined the clothes get. The other nobles are looking uneasy. Blood splattered clothes leave a mark on anyone. 

More than that, everyone knows to be wary when his Prince is in the room. He makes people uneasy. Some people think he isn’t even human. 

But only the holy man is brave enough to speak out about how such a  _monster_  is not fit to be in the throne room with them. Some priest he is. Pierce hums and turns to him. His face is as red as the blood on Winter’s coat. “I’ll ask you not to be so vehement against my son. What were we saying?” He taps another finger. “Ah. Yes. The matter of  _your_  city-state. What I was trying to say, earlier, was that it isn’t  _your_  city-state, anymore.” 

He watches the confusion blot along the man’s face like a particularly grotesque Rorschach painting. 

“Winter.” His Prince straightens immediately, ignoring everyone in the room save for his father. “Please show the Father what you have in the bag.” 

Winter nods immediately, turning to the priest and reaching into the satchel. There’s a soft moment of silence, and then gasps and oval eyes as he pulls a freshly-cut head out of the bag by short hair. 

The holy man looks as though he’s going to faint. His constant smattering of words fail him, and he gapes at Winter, then the head, then Pierce himself. 

Pierce opens his arms wide, a king welcoming his subject. “As you can see, Father, King Coulson has unexpectedly died. Your city-state belongs to me. I suggest you give your new King the respect her deserves, and the Prince a proper apology.”

“An  _apology_?!” 

“Well, Winter may be a dog and a monster, but you will respect him. He  _did_  kill your king.” Pierce makes a motion and Winter leans close to the priest, deftly dropping the decapitated and bloody head into the hands of the holy man. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Wash these.” Winter’s voice is low but quiet, practically a rasp. His words are slow, dead. It’s as though he’s barely alive when he speaks. 

He lets the bloodied coat drop into Prince Anthony’s hands, then begins stripping to just his undergarments. King Coulson put up a fight, as it was, and there was more blood than even  _Winter_  wanted to deal with.

“I’m  _not_  your handmaiden.” Tony rolls his eyes around the snarl, fidgeting to carry all his clothes. The snark is all bark and no bite, Winter knows- The first few times that it  _was_  serious, Winter sorted him out. Tony knows better than to disobey Winter’s direct commands now. 

Winter could command he not use the sarcasm and the snarky insults, but... It feels strange, but he almost likes the way Stark speaks to him. As though he’s not actually afraid of Winter. As though he’s comfortable.

“No. But you will clean them anyways.” Winter replies after a moment of staring at him. He knows, though he’s not sure why, that his gaze makes people uncomfortable. Even Stark. Especially Stark. 

“... I don’t know what you expect me to do with these. You trashed them. Who did you  _kill_?” Normally, Stark doesn’t ask. Maybe he’s feeling more masochistic than usual today. 

Winter shrugs slowly. “A King. Coulson. My father owns his nation now.” 

“Oh, great, another one for King Douche and his Psychotic Prince.” Tony mutters. Winter would reprimand him, but Tony is actually moving to go to the adjoining bathroom with the clothes in his hands. He’s doing  _one_  task correctly, so Winter doesn’t want to push his luck. Stark is stubborn. 

And unlike the rumors that he is a cruel and terrible husband, Winter  _does_  care for them. Even if he doesn’t understand them, not entirely.

“Where is Steve.” 

Tony drops the coat into the basin in the corner of the bathroom, then peaks his head out of the doorway to peer at Winter. “Probably sleeping. He does that a lot. ‘Specially when you’re not around. He’s been  _extra_  pissy for the past week. You should talk to him, calm him down.”

Winter purses his lips, turning towards the hall where Tony and Steve stay. He dislikes that Steve worries so much, that he is equal parts sad and relieved whenever Winter returns from the missions his father gives him. 

He turns back to the bathroom. “If you cannot wash the garments, throw them out and get another seamstress to make a new one.” The King says the coat, with those patterns and colors, look good on him, make him look like the perfect prince. Round out the edges to make him presentable. 

Tony grumbles  _something_ , but Winter ignores him in favor of opening the door to Prince Steven’s room.


	3. Chapter 3

Winter is quiet upon entering the bedroom. He doesn’t want to startle Steve. He slides up to the bed and gets in beside him, slowly reaching out the flesh hand to brush Steve’s bangs out of his eyes. 

“...Buck...?” Steve mumbles, and starts to fidget, his eyes flicking open after a moment of him slowly waking up. When his eyes focus on Winter, a flash of pain crosses his face and he slowly suck in his bottom lip, a soft huff of breath escaping him. 

Winter watches him wake up, and tries to ignore the way the name Steve muttered is making him feel as though he wants to vomit up his lunch. The nausea swirling through him is... He doesn’t understand it.

“Winter. You’re home.” 

“Yes. I missed you. I will be home for several days.” He leans forward to breathe Steve in, leaning to push his forehead against Steve’s. He touches him only with the flesh hand, pushing his hair back and stroking his skin, relishing in him. Steve doesn’t get touched with the metal one; the severe look of pain and disgust plain on his face whenever Winter does has discouraged him from every trying to do so. 

“Good. You, here, means you’re not out killing.” 

If anyone else spoke to him, he would growl. Even so, he can’t help frowning, practically pouting. “You know I only eliminate those that would harm our Kingdom.”

“Right. Cause expanding the empire constitutes defense.” If  _Winter_ is pouting, Steve is downright glaring, slowly sitting up so he doesn’t touch Winter at  _all_  anymore. 

“I do not want to talk about my father’s conquests with you. I want to enjoy your company.” He says it slowly; Steve always tries to get into deep discussions that leave him red in the face and screaming at Winter. Blaspheming against the King and the Kingdom while shaking in anger. 

Steve’s face shuts down even more, erasing into a blank facade. “You should leave. I see nothing but a murderer right now. I’m tired.”

Winter sits back, brow furrowing. “You’re  _always_  tired.” He’s pretty sure Steve just wants to get rid of him. Steve  _can’t_. He’s his husband. He must stay. 

“Can’t help if living with a monster tires me out.” Steve turns away from him, refusing to even  _look_  at Winter. It makes Winter want to pull him towards him, carry him out of the bed and force him to speak to Winter, force him to be a proper husband. 

He doesn’t. Instead he lets out a frustrated breath and slides off the bed. “One day you will understand you are mine, Steve. I give you so much, and you do nothing but angry at me.” Then he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

Winter takes a moment to breathe deeply, trying to expel his frustrations. Steve is newer than Tony, Winter must remember. Steve is not actually a natural-born prince. He doesn’t know the order of things. Winter must teach him; he cannot get angry. 

Stark is still washing his clothes when Winter finds him, and he makes a surprised noise when Winter steps behind him, kissing his neck slowly. Tony leans back from the basin, wiping his wet and soapy hands on a hand towel next to him. “Steve being an ass?” 

“He’s stubborn.” Winter says, lips brushing lightly against Tony’s skin. 

Tony shivers. “He is. It’s a good thing.”

Winter shrugs, pulling both of his arms around Tony and pulling him close. He thinks for a while, then pushes his lips back to Tony and murmurs, “Tony. Are you mine?”

Tony shivers again, giving a shallow breath and a soft nod. “Yes. Of course.”


	4. Chapter 4

The wind is soft, gentle, like the quietest caress upon his back with each step he takes. Snow brushes gently down on him, the white flakes stark against his dark hair, melting slowly to curl his hair, pulled by the wind. He’s dressed in all black; with the surrounding landscape of snowy knolls and flakes in the air, he makes quite a striking image.

His father requested he not wear his embroidered coats on missions anymore. He believes the black will do him better. Winter has no care for his Father’s secret political and cultural plans or looks; He prefers the light and agile black to the heavy coats. That’s all.

Winter straightens, shifting the weight of the unconscious body in his arms. Not dead; just sleeping. His father had one more request for this mission. 

Make it showy, grand, horrifying. 

He need not say more.

The man is set in the snow, spread-eagle as though he’s about to make a snow angel. Winter marvels for a second at the beautiful heavy lids and soft, blond hair hanging in ringlets over his face. 

If this King weren’t a threat to his father, he would take him for himself. His lips are soft in a way Tony would appreciate, and there’s a gentleness to him that would take Steve aback, in a good way, if he were to experience it.

Winter closes his eyes for a moment, just relishing in the thought of him spending time with his husbands without having to leave for weeks and months at a time. Getting them to like him, the way he loves them. 

He huffs and strokes the sleeping man’s face. His name is Thor. His death will help to unify the kingdoms more. One day his father will be satisfied, and Winter will be allowed to spend time and love with his husbands. 

But for now, he must work. Work on striking fear into the public of this kingdom, and work on eliminating it’s primary leader. 

He’s a strong man. He might pose a threat to Winter if he wakes up. His father, Odin, was killed in some skirmish involving Thor’s brother. Winter has heard talk of him being sent after the Trickster once Thor’s Asgard is safely secured for King Pierce. 

Winter reaches down to take the crown from Thor’s head, placing the jewels and gold on his own head. It’s comfortable. He will cherish it, until he gives it to Tony and allows him to melt it down for metal parts.

He moves Thor’s arms and legs just right. The falling snow will cover his own tracks, when he leaves. 

The dagger is sharp and shining in the moonlight, and he hesitates for a moment. He wants to flay this man, make a spectacle of his internal organs, the revelation that no man is the holy deity they claim upon the throne; there is no gold within, just blood. 

He sets the dagger down in the snow beside him, caressing his cheek once more. He really is beautiful. He really is perfect. Would please his husbands and please Winter. Winter has seen the anarchy and chaos of Asgard within the past few days. 

A life of leading here would bleach this man’s hair grey and harden the soft laugh lines around his eyes. He must die- those are the orders. But the thought of letting that warmth seep out to the snow below is terrible. 

His father will understand. 

He pockets the dagger and pushes the hood of his cloak up. 

Before they set off to walk back to where Winter has set up, he binds the man’s hand and feet together, pushing a gag into his mouth. He could be a biter. Tony certainly was. 

Winter carries Prince Thor bridal carry back through the snowy forest, brushing snow from his hair and face occasionally.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr.](buckycurtis.tumblr.com)
> 
> The title comes from the song [Princes of the Universe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=235&v=VEJ8lpCQbyw) by Queen.


End file.
